


A Nameday to Remember

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Romance, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for bighound-littlebird's Sansan prompt on Tumblr:</p><p>Rather than sworn to the Lannisters, the Cleganes become sworn to the Starks. Sandor grows up in the North as Ned’s ward after he heals. At first when Sansa is born, he wants nothing to do with her. But after saving her from getting trampled by a horse while she’s picking wildflowers, she become attached to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momolady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momolady/gifts).



* * *

 

On Sandor Clegane’s twenty eighth nameday, Winterfell was humming with activity. The Stark family bustle about making the final preparations for the celebration feast planned later that evening. As usual, weeks before his nameday, he growled and barked to Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn and anyone else who would listen that it was nothing to celebrate, but just as it happened every year, the arrangements continued without regard to his wishes. In truth, the day haunted Sandor Clegane, for it not only marked the day of his birth but also commemorated his arrival at Winterfell.

At dawn he eagerly rode out to the highlands, the young man preferring the quiet peacefulness of the sweet clover meadows to the raucous goings on inside the castle. It was a tradition of sorts, for Sandor to spend time in the alpine meadows north of the castle on his nameday. After sending his fierce warhorse Stranger out to pasture, Sandor lay back in the tall prairie grass. Watching the clouds swirl in the sky above him, he thought back on the day King Robert personally gave him as ward to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.

After Sandor was burned by Gregor, King Robert insisted the Lannisters punish his sadistic brother, but the queen would not consent, and instead her father took him into service as a squire.  His mother, gods rest her soul, feared for his life and begged his father to send him away into the service of another noble house as soon as he was well enough to travel. Presumably to keep their favorite pet to themselves, they gave Gregor Clegane Keep and granted his father a small keep outside Wintertown known as Winterfrost Keep.The trip north was arduous, especially for a boy of seven and grievously injured. Soon though, his father was put into the service of House Stark as kennelmaster where Sandor worked alongside him.

Sandor had never felt as relieved as he did the day they finally arrived at Winterfell’s granite walls but that feeling faded soon enough. Most of the smallfolk in Wintertown and Winterfell alike feared his appearance, made even more intimidating as time when on. Sandor developed both height and a heavily muscled frame and by the time he reached his fifteenth nameday, Sandor was a head taller than Lord Eddard. Over the years Lord Eddard brought maesters from each of the Seven Kingdoms to treat his burns, and even consulted several Free folk healers, but despite the ointments and salves, the left side of his face healed into a twisted mass of gnarled flesh.

At twenty eight, he had no wife or lands, and no hope for them, either.  At times it seemed everyone feared him except the little bird, Sansa Stark. Sandor gave her the nickname as a babe, for her red hair and pale skin gave her the appearance of the little snow birds that flitted outside his bedroom window every morning. She was such a tiny and delicate creature, he could not help but stare at her at every opportunity. Both Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard noticed he was fascinated with her and many times tried to get him to hold her, but Sandor always declined, afraid he would accidentally hurt her.

One day Lady Catelyn plopped Sansa down into his lap and said flatly, “Just go on and hold her. She loves to be held. Treat her as you would one of the pups and you’ll do fine.”

Startled, Sandor stared into her beautiful eyes and offered her his finger, waiting for her to begin wailing in fear. Instead, she quickly took hold and crammed it into her mouth with a shy smile. That day was the happiest he had known since before he was injured, and though Sandor tried to hide it, it forever secured Sansa as his favorite among Lord Stark’s children.

As she grew, Sansa often gave him that same sweet look, seeking him out at every opportunity. While the rest of the children shied away from him, the young girl seemed genuinely unaffected by his scarring as she grew into womanhood. During the past year, the little bird blossomed into a startlingly beautiful young woman. Walking about the castle, she moved with a delicate grace that drew the attention of old and young men alike, her body now taking on the curves of womanhood that even her thick woolen gowns could not conceal.

Her beauty called to him, as did her sweet nature, and Sandor found her shy smiles now sent a wave of lust coursing through his veins, making him feel like the worst whoreson imaginable. She was not meant for the likes of him, he knew, and her father had already been entertaining offers of marriage for her. One day soon she was expected to announce her choice, and Sandor expected on that day he would become the most miserable man alive. So, day after day, he made himself scarce around the castle, the man taking solace in tending the dogs, training in the yard, and drinking himself every night into a stupor at the wine sinks in Wintertown.

For a time his plan worked well enough, but three moons past, matters took a turn for the worse. Growing up, Lord Eddard trained him in the arts of war alongside Jory Cassel and Smalljon Umber, and Sandor had quickly become one of the fiercest fighters in service to House Stark.  When Lord Eddard called him into his solar, Sandor was certain he would be appointed as one of his men at arms, but such was not to be; in fact, Lord Eddard had a far more dangerous assignment for him.

“You have noticed how my wee daughter Sansa has grown, Clegane?” Lord Eddard grinned at him, gesturing him to sit down.

“A proper lady she is now, my lord.” _And honey sweet,_ he added silently.

“That she is. Have you seen the way the men now look at her?”

Sandor did notice and he did not like it one wit. “Aye, I’d be blind to miss it.”

“Let us speak plainly,” Ned stared him in the eye. “I need a man I trust implicitly to look after her, keep her safe. You have watched her grow and treated her with respect, and you are the only man with whom I would entrust such a task. Protect her, watch over her and keep her safe, both in the castle and outside its walls. Will you do it?”

“I serve at your pleasure, my lord.” Sandor bowed low, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“Swear it,” Ned laid out a Stark banner beside Ice on the weirwood desk before him.

Sandor had never sworn anything before but he readily bowed low. Kneeling before Lord Eddard, Sandor raised the Valyrian sword and lightly ran his palm over the blade, slicing a shallow cut into his calloused flesh.

“I shall never fail you, Lord Stark, my sword and arrows are yours to command. I swear it on iron and steel, ice and fire.” Then he wiped his blood on the banner, folded it and handed it back to Ned.

Smiling, he gestured for Sandor to rise. “I offer you lordship, Clegane, as reward for your loyalty.”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor nodded curtly. “I want no titles, my lord.”

“Still, Winterfrost Keep is yours to inherit. Would you like that?”

Though pleased, he merely shrugged. “Thank you, my lord.”

Ned patted his shoulder. “That eases my mind greatly. You will start tomorrow.”

From that day on, Sandor spent his days escorting the little bird around the castle to her lessons and occasionally Wintertown. She always chattered to him about knights and maidens, and sang him songs that he secretly enjoyed. He was careful to never reveal his growing feelings which both annoyed and frustrated him, for being in such close proximity to her only increased his desire for her. If Sandor was honest with himself, his feelings had moved beyond mere lust and it scared him like nothing before. He wanted Sansa for himself, though he knew it was an impossible dream.

He knew he would need to content himself with being her sworn shield. If not for being given the day off for his nameday, Sandor would be following her around at that very moment.

“Sandor, there you are!” Sansa chirped as Robb lifted her out of the wagon. After picking a nearby flower, she came bounding up to him.

“Bloody hells, girl, what are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be planning my feast, remember?”

“It was meant to be a surprise!” Sansa pouted, twirling the wildflower in between her slender fingers. “Actually, we were sent out here to keep you busy.”

“I don’t need a passel of brats to entertain me, believe that,” he snarled, glaring at the Greyjoy boy. Sandor never trusted that one and it galled him to see his little bird escorted by the slippery youth. Her brother Robb shifted uneasily under Sandor’s intense gaze.

“We’ll stay out of your way, dog,” Theon called. "We are going to race that hill over there while Sansa picks flowers for your cake.”

“I don’t want any buggering cake!” Sandor shouted, scaring the horses.

“Oh, Sandor, you will like this one, I promise,” Sansa purred, her sweet demeanor instantly making him regret his harsh tone. “I made it especially for you. It is lemoncake, extra sour, just the way you like it.”

“Hmph,” he grunted, standing up to brush off his breeches.

“Please, do not trouble yourself for my sake, I beg. I will be right over here. Go on with your nap.” Sansa gave him another one of her sweet smiles, making him groan inwardly.

“Stay close to me,” Sandor barked roughly.

As she moved through the colorful wildflowers, Sandor found himself staring at her. The afternoon sun set her crimson hair ablaze and her alabaster skin glowed pink from exertion.

“What is it?” Sansa asked quietly, the young woman self-consciously smoothing down the front of her gown. When he remained silent, her blue eyes stared directly into his own, and a soft smile played upon her full lips as she regarded him curiously.

Swallowing hard, Sandor’s words stuck in his throat until the shouts of the two young men startled him out of his stupor.

 Thundering hooves vibrated the ground beneath him, and all at once Sandor was on his feet, lifting Sansa into his arms as he jumped out of the way of the runaway cart.

The little bird lay underneath him, her eyes wide with fright. Immediately he rolled off of her, but Sansa clung to his tunic, holding Sandor firmly in place. “You’re alright now, little bird, you’re alright.”

Trembling beneath him, she whispered, “The horses-Sandor, you could have been killed! You saved my life without a thought to your own!”

“Sansa! Clegane! Are you both alright?” Robb and Theon ran up to them, both men visibly shaken.

“You could have killed us both, you buggering fools!” Sandor shouted angrily, lifting Sansa in his arms as he rose to his feet. “How many times has your father told you not to run those animals hitched to the wagon? You take that team and go back to the castle at once before I skin you both alive.”

“What about Sansa?” Robb quietly asked, keeping his eyes averted.

“I’ll get her back, never you mind. Now get out of my sight, the both of you!”

The sound of the wagon wheels faded into the distance as Sandor settled her on a fallen log. “Are you alright, little bird?”

“Yes, I think so,” Sansa touched her hand to her forehead. “Oh, I am bleeding!”

Sandor retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed the wound. “Tis but a small scratch, lass.”

Reaching up to his face, Sansa cupped his burned cheek in her hand. “Thank you, Sandor, for saving me.” With that she tentatively brushed her lips against his own.

“Sansa-“

“Shh, it’s alright,” she murmured, leaning closer. Lightly she flicked her tongue over his lips, and Sandor eagerly opened his mouth to her. At some point during her maidenly explorations, Sandor laid her down among the wildflowers and leaned on his elbow beside her.

Beneath him, Sansa was soft curves and tender caresses, her small hands tracing the musculature of his back as he kissed her. Slowly he traced his finger over her cheek, down the slope of her neck and around the curve of her breast. Arching into his touch, she whimpered and sighed contentedly. Breathing heavily, Sandor finally managed to tear himself away from her, the man realizing what little control he had left was quickly wavering.

Staring dazedly at him, Sansa’s breath came in short gasps, her cheeks flushed pink with desire and her luscious mouth swollen and deliciously red. “What is wrong?”

“Sansa,” he rasped deeply, wanting nothing more than to kiss every inch of her. “We needs head back now, before I do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like fuck you right here in this meadow,” Sandor growled, the man suddenly angry. He was fool to even start this with her, and now that Sandor had a taste of her, he knew he would never be able to stand by and watch his little bird become a high lord’s get.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Sandor cursed under his breath until the feel of her soft hand pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Sandor,” Sansa whispered. “Would it be so foolish for me to give myself to you?”

“Sansa, don’t fucking play games with me. You know your father would never allow me to wed you.”

“Is that what you want?” Sansa quietly asked. “Do you want to take me to wife?”

“What bloody fool wouldn’t?” Sandor laughed, the sound empty and mirthless.

Taking his face in her hands, Sansa smiled at him shyly, just as she always did. “Then I will tell Father I have made my choice.”

“Who have you chosen?” He choked the question out, the young man both hoping for and yet fearing her response.

“I choose you.”

He stared deep into her eyes, searching for deception, but Sandor found only affection and a deeper, warmer sentiment he could not name. “You want me?” Sandor asked incredulously. “Think on it, now. You aren’t just doing this out of some bloody sense of gratitude?”

“No, I have cared for you for some time,” Sansa’s face took on an air of determination. “That is why I did not choose from the suitors Father brought to the castle. I wanted you and no other.”

“Your Father will never allow it. The northern lords will never allow it.”

“You are as much of the north as any of them. They are bound to abide by my choice, it is our custom,” Sansa kissed him lightly on each cheek. “You will be mine.”

Scowling, he held her hands still. “Little bird-“

Placing her fingers on his lips, Sansa shook her head. “You have always been good to me, far better than any other man, and you keep me safe. Father entrusted me to you, why should he not agree to this union?”

Speechless, Sandor shook his head. “It will never be, lass.”

“I have known you all of my life, Sandor. Do you love me?” Sansa pointedly asked, taking him by surprise.

 _Love her?_ He wasn’t certain he knew what love was, but this feeling he had for her was far deeper than Sandor had ever known. _A hound will die for you and never lie to you,_ he once told her, and that was as near to love as anything in his mind. “Aye,” he finally admitted, averting his eyes.

“And I love you-I have always loved you. That is all that matters. Come, we will speak to Father and Mother, and then make the announcement at the feast.”

After much debate, Lord Eddard did indeed stand behind Sansa’s decision, and just as the little bird promised, that evening she made the announcement at his nameday feast. Later, by the light of the moon, they said their vows beneath the Heart tree, forever securing Sandor’s nameday as his favorite day of the year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his thirty-third nameday, Sandor remembers the day he and Sansa wed.

After grudgingly attending the celebration hosted by the Starks and the northern lords for his thirty-third name day, Sandor awkwardly made his excuses and left at the earliest socially acceptable moment. Never one to enjoy such festivities, the man had many reasons to hurry back to his wife, of which many of his guests were well aware of; at the first opportunity Sandor made his way to back to their bedchamber.

Originally the party was made to celebrate the anniversary of their wedded day as well, but Sansa had not felt well enough to attend. According to the maester's predictions, Sandor feared that would be the case, leading him to stubbornly refuse to allow the party for many weeks. When Sansa told him she indeed would not make it, Sandor spent the day growling and cursing that the only reason he agreed to it was for her, and if she could not go there was no reason for the party to go on.

Calmly Sansa insisted they had much to be grateful for this year and their friends would be very disappointed if they were not allowed to share in their joy. In the end, as was his usual custom, Sandor consented to his wife’s wishes and the party plans went forward as planned. As much as he did not relish of attending without her, the man was still unable to deny her anything, a damnable truth that despite his best intentions persisted through their five years of marriage.

He and the little bird had come a long way since their wedded day. Sandor brought her a special gift to commemorate the occasion but decided he would wait until morning to give it to her, as Sansa was fast asleep. Quietly he undressed, lay down beside her, and wrapped Sansa tightly in his arms. Softly she moaned and rested her hands on his arms resting on her belly. When her breathing slowed once more, Sandor allowed his fingers to weave through the length of her hair and closed his eyes. Soon his mind drifted back to their wedded day, and the first time he had been in a bedroom alone with her.

* * *

Throughout the nameday meal, Sandor watched Sansa closely for signs of regret, wondering if the little bird realized what she was getting into when she decided she wanted to marry him. She seemed happy enough, but as the evening wore on, her typically easy smile grew somewhat tighter, and her cheeks flushed red under his gaze. It was only natural, he knew, since Sansa was a maid, and after the way his eyes followed her throughout the night, the little bird had good reason to be wary of the hungry dog who would become her husband.

Truth be told, Sandor was a bit anxious himself. While he wanted the little bird more than anything in the world, he scarcely allowed himself to believe she meant her words.  As the northern men made their toasts, hearing him and Sansa referred to as the Cleganes brought an acrimonious shiver coursing through his body. Gregor had married twice already, and each of his wives had met grisly ends. Sandor would kill the Warrior himself before he allowed anything to happen to Sansa, or go anywhere near his brother for that matter. No one made any comments to that end, but the morbid implications for Sansa marrying a Clegane wore heavily on him just the same.

Ned Stark had seen Gregor’s work first hand during Robert’s Rebellion, Sandor knew, but he unreservedly welcomed him into the family after Sansa’s announcement.  Lady Catelyn, however, no doubt eared a similar outcome for her eldest daughter, judging by her reaction; the normally warm, hospitable lady of Winterfell responded with unspoken anxiety, her mouth pulled into a severe line as she listened to Sansa and Ned.

Noticing her tension, Sandor haltingly offered the only reassurance he could afford. “I would never hurt Sansa, Lord and Lady Stark. I will love and protect her, and give my life for her if necessary; I swear it on the old gods and the new.”

“I know you will, son,” Ned patted him on the back, his deep gray eyes calmly surveying him, the confidence in his voice reassuring despite his wife’s obvious bristling demeanor. “I could not ask for a better goodson, Sandor, and quite frankly, I am relieved by my daughter’s decision. The father in me is far happier knowing I will be able to keep my little lemoncake in the family rather than send her off to a man I do not know half so well.”

“We would not have done that, Ned,” Lady Catelyn chided softly. “Sansa, you would have been able to choose anyone you wanted. You need not have chosen…quite so hastily. Your father will free you from this obligation should you so wish it.”

“I am most grateful to both of you, but please believe I have chosen the man I wanted. I love Sandor, and he is the only man whom I would have consented to wed.”  Sansa then turned, smiled brightly at him and daringly kissed his cheek, much to the amusement of her father and the chagrin of her mother.

As Sansa prepared for the ceremony, Sandor paced anxiously, unable to shake the feeling that she had agreed to wed him only to prevent being made to leave Winterfell. Sandor knew he would be unable to go through with the ceremony without first speaking to her, and so he slipped into Sansa’s room as she dressed.

Her handmaidens all turned in surprise as Sandor entered, though none of them had the nerve to scold him.He did not expect so many women to attend her.  “Get out!” He barked roughly at them.

Blushing deeply, Sansa surprised him by dismissing the women and then eagerly holding her arms out to him. “Sandor! What an unexpected pleasure.You must forgive my state of undress.  I did not think you would come to me before the ceremony,” Sansa smiled up at him while self-consciously pulling her robe around her waist. “Else I would have readied myself more quickly. I was just about to put on my gown.”

She was far more beautiful without her heavy northern gown, and Sandor’s mouth went dry as his eyes traveled heatedly over Sansa’s ample curves. Her big blue eyes stared up at him expectantly; realizing he still had not spoken, Sandor finally forced himself to meet her gaze once more. “Sansa, I came here because before we wed I needs ask you a question.”

“Alright,” Sansa said softly, settling down on the bed and patting the space beside her.

Sandor flopped down next to her, uneasily running his hands over his thighs. “Why did you choose me as your husband?” He finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you; it is because you have always been good to me and I care for you very deeply.” Taking his hands in hers, Sansa curiously looked at him and asked, “What is troubling you? Do you not believe me?”

Sighing, Sandor turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s just that…” he paused. _How can I possibly make her understand what it feels like to be feared, considered too low born to live among the Starks, to be unwanted even by your own family? Sansa has only known love and acceptance her entire life._ Sandor tilted her face up to him and gripped her chin. “You and I are so very different, lass-can you not see it?”

Sansa knitted her brows.“What do you mean?”

“For one, you are far too used to your highborn life; have you even considered what this marriage will mean for you?”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head sadly. “I understand perfectly. You are asking if I have considered that I will no longer be viewed as the reward to be given away to one of my father’s bannermen. Is that all you men think about?”

“Bloody hells, Sansa, I meant to say-“

“What?” Sansa stood up suddenly, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you believe me so stupid that I don’t realize that I won’t live in a huge castle anymore? Have as many servants as I do now-if any?”

“Well,” Sandor shrugged, the man somewhat taken back by her angry outburst.

“I do not care about any of that,” Sansa cupped his cheek in her hands. “I thought you knew that! I chose _you_ because you are the man I wanted from the start; why can you not accept that?”

Growling angrily, he slammed his fist down on her table and fell to one knee.  He felt her infuriated gaze upon him, but Sandor could not bring himself to look at her.

“Sandor,” she calmly said while resting her hand on his should. “I want to belong to you, and for you to belong to me. Please answer me: do you trust my words?”

“I do, lass, I do,” Sandor cleared his throat and turned away from her, unable to bear the intensity of her deep blue eyes.

“Then do you not wish to be my husband- is that why you have brought this up before the ceremony?” Her lip trembled slightly.

“No, I want you, Sansa, more than I have ever wanted anything,” he finally admitted, drawing her into his arms.

“Sandor, my feelings for you did not just begin with our kiss today,” Sansa took his face in her hands. “I have loved you all of my life-in fact I cannot remember a time when I did not love you-and when I became a woman those feelings turned into a much deeper, romantic, abiding love.”

Indignantly Sandor snorted and pulled away from her. “I am not one of your buggering knights, Sansa, believe that. You know nothing about me or my past, or how I came to Winterfell.”

“I asked Father to tell me, but he would not. He said it is your story to tell, and he would not breach your trust,” Sansa answered quietly. “Will you not tell me now that we are to wed?”

“Now is not the time to go into it, little bird. Trust my words, will you?” When Sansa wrapped her arms around him and nodded understandingly, the words poured forth from the man. “I came to Winterfell because of my brother, little bird-he was the one who burned me. He held my face in the fire as I screamed because he caught me playing with his toy knight.” An involuntary shudder moved through Sandor, and Sansa pulled him closer still; he could feel her trembling beneath him. "The king hid it in order to use Gregor in service to the throne.  I was sent here with my father and mother to live as a ward of Lord Eddard.”

“My father had the king sent you here as a favor to his old friend,” Sansa finished. “But what of your parents? They agreed to the king’s wishes without hesitation?” Sansa asked gently.

“Aye they did, and King Robert gifted the Cleganes Winterfrost Keep for their supposed loyalty,” he spat out bitterly, pulling away from her. “He gave Clegane Keep to my brother. He’s a landed knight, you know, and I am only the outcast second son of a kennelmaster.”

“Sandor, I am so very sorry,” Sansa wrung her hands and turned away to hide her tears. “You were used terribly ill. I am so glad you came to us, though; if you had stayed south we would most likely have never met.”

“Look at me, lass,” Sandor leaned in close, pointing to the marled flesh covering the left side of his face. “Take a good long look.” After several moments passed, he grabbed her chin once more. “Not the handsome prince from one of your fairy songs, am I? No, little bird, I’m not that man-and I’m a killer besides. Everyone fears me, and if you had any sense, you would too.” Satisfied, Sandor smirked and tried to turn away from her but Sansa held firm.

“Did you see me shrink in horror, Sandor? Is that the reaction you were seeking? Well, bother the scars,” Sansa snapped, holding his face firmly in both hands and drawing him down to her. “I am not frightened of them, or you, for that matter. I know you have killed in service to my father, but you have given me no reason to fear you and I am not about to start because you growl at me.”

Shaking his head, Sandor laughed bitterly, though he did not pull away from her. Understanding dawned in her eyes, and the anger drain suddenly from her face. Confused, he frowned at her.

“Do you think yourself unworthy to wed me because of this?” She gently touched his scars, tracing her fingers through the hardened rivulets near his mouth. “Is this why you think I should fear you?”

“Everyone else has since it happened,” he shrugged, lowering his eyes. “Why not you?”

“Why not me? Because I love you, that is why, and because you are more than your scars.” Sansa kissed his scarred cheek tenderly. “Why do you care what others think of you in this matter? You never give thought to it in any other instance.”

Swallowing hard, Sandor irritably grumbled, “You are but a wee lass, Sansa; you know nothing.”

“I am not a child, so please stop referring to me as such. I am a woman flowered three years already; and I would not be allowed to wed if I were not viewed as a woman in the sight of both the old gods and men,” Sansa took his hand in her own. “I may not know all the ways of the world, Sandor, but I know that I love you. I know that I want to spend my life with you. I want to have your children, if you will have me.”

“If _I_ will have _you_?” Sandor stared at her in disbelief. “I am not meant for the likes of you, lass, and don’t think for a moment anyone of these northern lords and ladies will let you forget it.”

“Have Robb, Jon or Theon encouraged you to rescind your troth to me?” Sansa quietly probed, fury blighting her lovely features. “Or is it another? If so, they should be ashamed of themselves! I will speak to Father at once-“

“No, Sansa,” Sandor shook his head. “Why would you mention your brothers?”  He had considered those boys like his own younger brothers, though admittedly he did not like the Greyjoy lad. When she turned away, Sandor gripped her chin tightly. “Have they said anything derogatory about me to you?”

Twisting her sash, Sansa hesitantly whispered, “Well, Theon has always hoped Father would give me to him, though I knew that would never happen. He was most angry after our announcement. He and Robb spoke to me in private, to inform me that you are not, well, that I am not the first woman you have…loved. You have had others in Wintertown. Jon would have no part in it and scolded them severely.”

Sighing heavily, Sandor slumped down in the chair and beckoned to her. “Come to me, little bird, let’s have a talk.” Gently her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing his cheek against her breast.

“Have you loved before?” Sansa whispered, running her hands through his hair. “Please, you can tell me, and I will understand.”

“No, lass,” Sandor raised his face and stared deep into her eyes. “I’ve not loved in my entire gods forsaken life. I’ve fucked other women, aye, but that is not the same thing. There was no love in it; I paid them well for their services.”

“Really?” Sansa asked, her eyes widening with curiosity.

“Aye,” he answered quickly, eager to stem the multitude of questions he saw welling in her mind. “You are the first woman I loved, little bird, and you will be the last. You are the only one I have loved. Little bird, you are the only woman to whom I have said the words as well,” Sandor stared deep into her eyes while running his hand over the curve of her cheek. “I swear it to you. A dog will die for you but never lie to you.”

“Yes, so you have said before,” Sansa smiled up at him. “Sandor, you are the first and only man I love, I swear it on the old gods and the new. I will see to it those two will be punished for their interference.”

Bringing his face closer to her, Sandor growled, “You leave them to me, understand? I’ll not have my wife fighting my battles for me.” She smiled broadly at this, and so he added, “I do want you as my wife, Sansa. Will you wed me?”

“Yes, my love,” Sansa happily kissed each cheek, and then kissed him slowly on the mouth. When she pulled away, she added, “I only want to be with you, Sandor; where we live matters not. If you do not wish for us to live in Winterfrost Keep, I understand and I will stand by your choice; you have my word.”

Stunned, Sandor gently pulled away to look at her. There was no disappointment, no ill concealed sadness in her gaze;  only a long forgotten sentiment Sandor had not seen in a woman’s eyes since his mother and sister died. _Sara would have loved you_ , Sandor thought as he stood silently drinking in her exquisite features.

Shyly smiling at him, Sansa watched his eyes drift from her hair to her face and then over her thin dressing gown.  He drew her close to him and brushed her hair from her eyes. Sansa blushed heatedly under his intense gaze, but the young woman neither moved to cover herself nor withdrew from his embrace. “If you plan on staying longer in here, would you mind helping me with my gown?”

Sandor took in a slow deep breath to settle his nerves, allowing his hand to stroke the smooth curve of her cheek once more. “Aye, I will, though your handmaidens would be better, I dare say.”

Flushing deep red, Sansa turned and allowed her robe to fall from her shoulders, revealing the cream and scarlet colored satin corset with adorned with small pink silk roses that lifted her cleavage in a most alluring manner. She wore matching smallclothes with cream garters and hose featuring tiny pink and dark red roses following the back seams.

Swallowing hard, Sandor struggled to find his voice. When he finally spoke, it sounded hoarse even in his own ears. “A daring little bird you are.”

“In an hour hence, we will be husband and wife,” Sansa whispered, bashfully glanced up at him. “And later, we will share the bed on which you are sitting. I am most shy, I know, but I must learn to be thus with you.”

Unable to resist, Sandor moved her into his arms, his fingers tracing the delicate design on her bodice. “By the gods but you are a beauty, little bird. I’ll have my song from you later, believe that.” Resting his chin against her bare shoulder, Sandor inhaled deeply, reveling in her sweet lavender scent.

Smiling coyly, Sansa shook her head and leaned into him further. “No one would believe such an endearment came from the lips of the fearsome Hound.”

Instead of answering, Sandor lifted her onto his lap. He allowed his hands to roam over the supple skin of her back and shoulders, then leaned in and kissed her deeply, parting his lips and touching his tongue to her own. Running her fingers through his hair, Sansa breathed out a satisfied moan, the sound reminding Sandor to release her before he ended up taking her before the wedding.  With some difficulty, he stood up and settled her on her feet. “You best finish readying yourself, Sansa.”

Dazedly she nodded and reached for her gown. “Yes, we best make haste.”

* * *

Northern wedded ceremonies lacked the pomp and circumstance of the traditions of the Seven, and for that Sandor was grateful. With only the Heart tree and the family as onlookers, he and Sansa were wed. Looking into his bride’s beautiful eyes, Sandor Clegane made the first vow he ever promised and afterward he kissed her tenderly. Smiling, Sansa glowed with happiness, her silver gown shimmering in the moonlight as she turned to receive his cloak.

Cupping his face in her hands, Sansa spoke her vows and kissed him softly in return; she was so tender with him that Sandor feared his heart would beat out of his chest. Her family then said in unison, “May the old gods bless this union; what the gods have yoked together, let no man put asunder.”

When the wedded ceremony was over, he anxiously watched Lady Catelyn take Sansa aside and whisper softly in her ear. What sentiment was expressed between mother and daughter Sandor could not say, but he amusedly watched Sansa’s eyes widen and a deep blush spread across her cheeks. Afterward, her mother kissed her and moved away as the rest of the family stepped forward to offer congratulations to the couple.

Despite the protests of the guests gathered in the Great Hall, Sandor soundly refused to allow a bedding ceremony. Ned seemed very pleased with the decision and invited the men into the anteroom while the ladies gathered with his bride in their honeymoon suite.

“Will you make for Winterfrost Keep tonight, Sandor?” The Greatjon asked.

“No, we will stay here for a bit,” Sandor muttered, drinking deeply from his flask. “I won’t take the little bird from her nest just yet.”

Ned smiled. “I’ll have the keep made ready for you both as a wedded present.”

Nodding, Sandor remained silent and before he could answer, Arya wandered into the room. “Well, dog, she’s waiting for you. You best be nice to Sansa or I’ll take Needle to you.” The men all laughed heartily, causing Arya to cast a glowering scowl about the room.

Struggling to hide a smirk, Sandor growled back, “What do you know of swordplay, wolf girl?”

“All I need to know-just stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Arya answered, rolling her eyes. “Go up to her, goodbrother.”

After accepting the handshakes and well wishes of the men, Sandor nervously ascended the stairs to the bedchamber where the little bird waited for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sandor knocked lightly on the door and listened for Sansa’s soft footfalls. Inside there was giggling and bustling about. Impatiently he knocked again but still no answer.

Two blushing maids abruptly opened the door and skittered past. His eyes followed them, the man silently wondering if they would ever learn not to fear him.

When he turned back, Septa Mordane nodded severely at him.

“Be good to her, my lord. She is a delicate child.”

“You have my word,” he rasped at her, wishing his voice did not sound quite so harsh.

She merely nodded once more and then hurriedly took her leave.

When Sandor entered their bedchamber, Sansa gracefully moved about the room: lighting candles, placing scented satchels into simmering pots and arranging pillows.

Her lovely blue eyes lit up when she saw him, and immediately she moved beside him.

“Husband, I hope you enjoyed yourself today,” Sansa beamed at him.

He chuckled and nodded, gently stroking her jawline. Sansa surprised him by leaning into his touch, sighing contentedly. Her skin was so smooth, so delicate, that Sandor believed he would never tire of touching her.

Leaning over, she handed Sandor a cup on wine and poured one for herself.

“May the old gods bless this day, and every day that we live together as one.”

“Aye, from your mouth to the god’s ears, lass.” He toasted her, gulping the contents of the glass.

Sansa watched him a moment and tried to follow suit, pouring it into her mouth and quickly swallowed it.

Even though she was unaccustomed to spirits, she managed not to sputter and the sudden warmth of the wine bringing a flush of red to her cheeks.

 _The little bird does everything gracefully; she always has_. _She's_ _the exact opposite of her dog of a husband. Poor lass is scared and well she should be. She was never meant for an ugly brute like me._

Catching sight of his scarred appearance in the gilded mirror, he hardly fit the picture of the noble knight out one her fairy songs she so often sang.

Sandor was tempted to smash his fist into it as bitterness welled within him. Instead, he eagerly gulped down the goblet she offered, hoping to drown his dark thoughts in Dornish sour. The wine soon warmed his belly and his blood.

Blushing, Sansa refilled his cup and then her own. She was breathtakingly beautiful in a pale blue organza sleeping gown that shimmered transparent in the firelight.

Sandor took the opportunity to openly gaze at her as he sipped from his cup, allowing his eyes to travel over her supple, full breasts tipped in lush pink nipples and over the smooth slope of her stomach to her woman’s place.

In Wintertown, Sandor never once seen, let alone bought, a woman half as beautiful as Sansa. Even if such a creature had been available, he would have never chosen her, for Sandor always carefully picked the woman who looked him in the face; what _she_ looked like never mattered much for his needs.

He hoped Sansa would'nt be disappointed in him. His face was a ruin, but he had the honed body of a warrior that Sandor was rather proud of, and many women seemed pleased by it as well.

Gently Sandor reached his hand out to her, and Sansa eagerly moved into his embrace with a smile.

With an appreciative groan he wrapped his arms around her, bringing his face level with her breasts. Sansa was all soft curves and tender skin under his cheek. Nuzzling into her, Sandor admiringly stroked his fingers over each breast.

Softly Sansa let out a low moan, the sound bringing a surge of desire searing through his body. Her pulse fluttered against his fingertips, while her breasts heaving wantonly as she struggled to steady her breathing, enthralling him.

Gently Sandor ran his calloused hands down to her tiny waist, hips and thighs in smooth even strokes, all the while willing her to feel his adoration.

Sandor chuckled deeply as her cheeks flushed anew under his attentions but Sansa neither moved to cover herself nor drew away from him.

Tentatively his young bride brought her hands up to his shoulders and began running her palms in soothing circles over the fine material of his tunic.

Entranced, Sandor could hardly believe the beautiful woman tenderly rubbing his shoulders was his wife; and silently he swore that if this was a dream, he would kill the man who tried to awaken him.

His cock throbbed with need but Sandor knew he must go slowly for her sake. _Easy dog; you’ll frighten her if you show her how excited you are._

Sandor took a slow deep breath to settle his own frayed nerves, moving his hand up her arm over her shoulder to stroke the smooth curve of her neck.

Remembering the Greatjon said women like compliments, Sandor whispered, “You are a beauty, wife, truly.”

Pleased, Sansa smiled broadly but shook her head. “You are so very kind. I am merely healthy and happy.”

“Bugger your modest ways. You are the Maiden made flesh. Now that I can see all of you with my own two eyes,” Sandor grinned devilishly as he lasciviously allowed his eyes to travel over her body, “you are even lovelier than I imagined.”

“Thank you, husband. I-I am glad that I am to your taste,” Sansa timidly smiled at him. “I should do my wifely duty. What would you like me to do?”

“Duty?” Sandor raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean ‘what would I like you to do’?”

“As your wife, I need learn to please you.” She uncertainly chewed her lusciously plump lower lip. “Please, tell me what you like.”

Sandor’s mouth pulled into another roguish smirk as he saw the opportunity for one of his fevered dreams to become reality.

“Undress me.”

Frowning slightly, Sansa drew a deep breath.

“Are you certain you would not like something more? Will merely undressing you _really_ please you?”

“Aye it would, very much so,” Sandor rested his arms around her waist, squeezing lightly. “And bugger what that old woman says, little bird. She’s never bedded a man. None of that matters; only what is between us, understand?

“I suppose I do,” Sansa blushed, her eyes twinkling.

“Alright then, no more such talk.” He gripped her chin. “I will tell you what I like, and I want you to do the same.”

“You want me to tell you what I like?” Clearly perplexed, she nibbled on her bottom lip as she thought it over. “I don’t know what I like, I’m afraid.”

_Didn’t they teach girls this sort of thing once they got their moonblood? What was a septa good for if not to educate highborn girls on such matters?_

Puzzled, he stared into her eyes. “Didn’t that septa tell you anything about the goings-on of the marriage bed, Sansa?”

“Well, I already know a little. I’ve seen what the horses do in pasture,” she admitted in a scandalous tone. “But all Septa Mordane told me was to lie still, do whatever pleases my husband with a smile, bear it like a lady and it will be over quickly. Also, that children are the reward for doing your wifely duty.”

Fury surged through him but somehow Sandor managed to hide his irritation.

“Bloody hells, Sansa, I don’t claim to know much either,” he finally sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I know where to put it and I know damned well it can be more than just a duty.  You need not have a baby right away, either. You're young yet. I won't risk you dying in childbed. We can take steps so you can wait awhile before becoming a mother.”

“Really?” Sansa’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “We can still enjoy each other and not make a baby?"

“Yes, lass,” he stifled a smile. “Would you like to wait?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. “I would like to get to know you first - that is, learn you intimately - and have time for just the two of us.”

Swallowing hard, Sandor smiled at her, relieved that they were in agreement.

“Good, so would I. We’ll do like I said and learn together; what say you?”

“Yes husband.” Sansa lightly pressed down on his shoulders so he would sit on the edge of the bed. “Let us start with your tunic.” Reddening, Sansa carefully took the hem in her hands and pulled it over his head.

Obediently Sandor raised his arms so she could fully remove it while never taking his eyes off of her.

It amused him to watch Sansa struggle with the lacings on his neckline but Sandor endured it. When his chest was bared, she swallowed hard, her huge blue eyes roving over his body in a decidedly unladylike manner. And Sandor loved it.

“See something you like, little bird?”

 “Oh, yes…” Sansa breathed out. “I mean, I was just-“

Sandor found her shy blushes far more arousing than any trick the sporting women in Wintertown used.

“Just _what_?” He murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

Sansa colored deeply.

“I was just admiring you, husband. You are so very strong and powerful and - well,” she cast a glance at his groin, ”…large. It is a pleasure to see you thus.“

“You may be the first woman to admire me, lass, or at least the first to admit doing so. Good thing I wed you.” Sandor rose from the bed, standing so she was now at eye level with the lacings on his breeches. “Go on then. Finish the job, little bird.”

The feel of her soft fingers brushing against his abdomen made his cock throb with anticipation. If she kept it up much longer he would spill his seed then and there. Cursing under his breath, Sandor stilled her hands.

“Better let me do this.”

Quickly he loosened the lacings on his leather breeches, immediately relieved to finally give his growing erection more room.

“As it pleases you,” Sansa whispered as she stared appreciatively at him and tentatively placed her hand on his chest.

Gently she ran the palm of her hand over his skin, her soft explorations greatly pleasing him.

“Your skin is so very soft but for the hair,” she blushed further, bashfully looking up at him. “Yet your muscular build is quite hard underneath.”

“You don’t say, lass,” Sandor huskily rasped, bending down and kissing her neck.

Her skin was scented with lavender and vanilla, and she tasted even better than she smelled. It was all Sandor could do to keep from ripping off her gown and ravaging her.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, very much.” Sansa soon leaned into his touch, so he carefully moved the strap of her gown out of his way and continued kissing and sucking on her neck and shoulders. Small goosbumps raised on her pale flesh, earning a sharp laugh from Sandor.

He nipped a bit harder on her neck then and suddenly Sansa began trembling, puzzling him. _She seems to enjoy my kisses; what in bloody hells has her so frightened? Must be the scars._ Sandor knew he made an imposing image and Sansa certainly was not the first woman to be intimidated by him.

Sighing heavily, Sandor turned his attention toward her hair.

“I want to see your hair loose, wife,” he growled low while his large calloused fingers deftly unwrapped her French braid.

Sighing, Sansa immediately relaxed and leaned into his touch once more as Sandor ran his hands through the freed length of her hair.

“That feels so good. I have always loved having my hair brushed.”

“You needn’t be afraid, wife,” he kissed her cheek. “I won’t hurt you.”

Sansa turned to face him and rested her hands on his chest.

“I know, Sandor. It is merely maiden’s nerves, you must forgive me. Also, um, did Father not tell you what happened that led to you becoming my sword shield?”

Cold black fear tore Sandor from his pleasurable state at once.

“No, lass. Tell me.” He leaned close to her and rested his hands firmly around her waist, willing her to feel safe with him.

“Well, a few of the men from the Night’s Watch came to visit Winterfell. They got rather drunk, and when one of them found me in the kitchens looking for lemoncakes, he cornered me.” Sansa averted her eyes and wrung her hands. “He thought I was a kitchen maid.”

“The bloody bastard had no right to lay a hand on you,” Sandor roared, “even if you had been a kitchen wench.”

Sansa nervously wrung her hands, and so he knelt before her and held her hands, kissing each of them softly.

“And what else happened? Tell me.”

“He grabbed me and sloppily kissed all over my neck. I screamed. Jon came running from the forge.”

Shaking with fury, Sandor labored to calm his voice. “What did Jon do?”

“He killed him,” Sansa began crying in earnest, throwing herself into his arms.

Sandor let out a deep breath, holding her close and stroking her back tenderly.

“Good on him. I’ll have a sword forged for him for it.”

Sniffling, Sansa whispered, “When you kissed my neck it felt good but then…”

“Shh, it’s alright lass. It reminded you of that, did it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t fret over it, wife. There’s a lot of places I want to kiss you, Sansa,"  he closed the distance, his mouth curling into a smirk before softly kissing her lips. “I won’t kiss your neck if it frightens you.”

“Thank you,” he felt her breath against his skin as he spoke and she fervently returned his kiss with a smile.

“Sansa, look at me. Look at me,” Sandor took her face in his hands. “I’ll keep you safe. No one will hurt you again, or I’ll kill them. Do you believe me?”

Tremulously Sansa offered him a small smile. “I do, Sandor. I believe you.”

“Good,” he kissed her softly on the mouth. “Now no more such talk.” Sandor laughed openly then and Sansa followed suit.

Grinning at her, he softly rasped: “Get in the bed, Sansa.”

Sansa nervously darted her eyes toward the bed and then at him. Fidgeting with her hands, she carefully positioned herself under the covers, her cheeks flushing bright red as she did so.

Turning his back to her, Sandor stripped down to his smallclothes and climbed in after her. Wrapping Sansa close in his arms, he then pulled her tight against his chest so she would rest her cheek next to his heart. He ran his finger over her pulse.

“Your heart is pounding like a little bird that tumbled out of its nest and landed in the jaws of a hound.” Tenderly Sandor stroked her hair. “Settle yourself, lass. Sleep now.”

“You do not wish to consummate our union?" Sansa stared incredulously at him. “Are you certain? We will not be truly joined in the sight of the gods until we do so.”

“You’re an eager one,” Sandor laughed, causing Sansa to redden further, “but I’ll not take you whilst you’re afraid either. We’ll seal the union, lass, don’t fret on that. Just come here and rest for a bit and we’ll see what happens from there.”

Sansa’s face relaxed. Drawing in a deep breath, she happily snuggled down beside him and took his hand in her own.

“Thank you. Good night, husband,” she whispered shyly and then placed a chaste kiss on his mouth.

Unable to resist, Sandor rolled over on top of her and returned her kiss in a considerably less chaste manner, plunging his tongue into her mouth when she gasped in surprise.

He kissed Sansa for a long while that way, and it pleased him to see that Sansa eagerly responded in kind.  Sandor had very little experience kissing, but something about Sansa made it feel natural to the man.

Seductively he rolled his tongue over her lips and mouth and she enthusiastically matched his movements; and all the while his cock ached painfully for release.

When Sandor noticed Sansa was panting beneath him, her little nails digging into his shoulder in an effort to pull him closer, he purposefully rolled back over and laid her next to him.

It was not entirely his plan to put a stop to their lovemaking; for it had been a long time since Sandor had a woman. 

Groaning, his seed spilled warm on her thigh. Embarassed, Sandor was grateful that Sansa was still mostly covered by a blanket.

When he abruptly stopped kissing her with a loud groan, dazedly Sansa knitted her brows in confusion.

Sheepishly Sandor peeked back at her through a lock of hair, but his wife did not seem to notice anything amiss when he pulled away.

“You’ve had enough kissing, I think,” Sandor smiled wolfishly at her. “Sleep now.”

Nodding, Sansa settled down with her head on his chest. In less than a quarter hour she was sound asleep, her hair spread over him like a silken shawl. With each breath her breasts pressed enticingly against his stomach, stoking his passion once more.

Silently he stroked her smooth skin, the man longing to awaken her. _She needs time, just a little more time, poor little bird._

Resignedly, Sandor leaned over to the nightstand and took a long draw from his wineskin. “The Seven save me from highborn little birds.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mr. Littlefeather watched the Super Bowl, I wrote this. :D This chapter is explicit so be forewarned. Enjoy!

The flickering embers of the dying fire roused Sandor. Looking down, he saw the little bird was still peacefully sleeping, her ivory cheek resting warm on his chest.  At the sight of her, his manhood instantly hardened and he pulled her closer against him. Sandor reached down and brought his long fingers through the silken strands of her hair. Emboldened, he shifted closer to her but still Sansa did not stir. Sighing softly, she snuggled down closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Never had Sandor touched or held anything as perfect as his beloved bride. Under his calloused hands, Sansa was unbelievably delicate and smooth and the youthful softness of her body set his blood boiling. Sandor smoothed his hands over her shoulders and down the slope of her back.

Sansa stirred and then tensed for a moment before relaxing into his touch. She craned her head up to face him.

“Forgive me, you startled me. I am not accustomed to waking up to you.” 

The graceful curve between her neck and shoulder called to him. Sandor leaned down and nuzzled into her neck before carefully placing his mouth against the downy softness of her nape, gently nibbling her there.

“Oh, my, this is a nice way to awaken,” she cooed, twisting the length of his hair between her fingers.

“Warm enough, wife?”

Her eyes lit up as she regarded him. “Oh, yes, very. You feel so very good. Would you like to, um, try again?” Nervously she fidgeted with the blanket before stealing a glance at him through a curtain of red hair.

“Aye, very much so, wife,”  Sandor traced his finger under the strap of her sleeping gown while tasting the tender skin along her collarbone. Sansa arched into him, her eagerness delighting the man. “I want to see you.”

Shyly Sansa nodded, a mischievous smile playing across her luscious mouth. Deftly he slipped her gown off her shoulders and smoothed the material to her hips, baring her completely. Blushing, Sansa raised up to help him remove it.

Her receptiveness startled Sandor. While his hands rubbed circles over her sides and back, Sandor let out an appreciative growl at the sight of her body in the firelight, the shadows casting her lovely curves in a deep orange glow. Sansa was perfect, far more beautiful than any woman he had ever been with.

His feelings for her went far beyond admiring her beauty; he was in love with her, he had to admit, and the intimacy of having her in his arms threatened to overwhelm Sandor. Every fiber within him ached for her, but Sandor was determined he would not rush Sansa.

All that stood between them now was her cursed smallclothes but Sansa blushed so furiously when Sandor eyed them that he decided to leave them on her for the time being. Sighing to dispel his pent up tension, Sandor gently kneaded her back and once she relaxed, he then allowed his hands to then explore the small dip in her waist, the rounded swell of her hips, her creamy thighs and legs that seemed to stretch on forever.

Catlike, Sansa rubbed her cheek against his and mewled softly at the contact, burying her face in the crook of his neck contentedly, her response pleasing the man immensely.

_Good girl._

Her sweet honeyed scent paired with the press of her sensuous body against him was so thoroughly intoxicating that before long Sandor’s control wavered sharply.  _She is young. Take your time, dog, or you’ll scare her._

Drawing in a deep breath, the man held her gaze and tentatively reached out and caressed her beautifully full breasts, carefully squeezing them in each hand. Soft and supple, they were more perfect than he imagined in his most heated wine dreams.

Sansa gasped softly and then giggled. “Forgive me, you merely surprised me, Sandor,” she offered by way of explanation. “Your hands are a bit cold.”

Sandor figured as much; her rosy nipples hardened as soon as the cool air touched them. He could fix that easily enough. Cupping each one in his large hands,  he rubbed them against his cheek, warming her silky skin as he pressed his face there between them and placing soft kisses up to her collarbone.

Gasping softly once more, he felt Sansa’s hands cup his head and then smooth through the length of his hair, his wife sighing out a soft moan as she did so. Watching the little bird squeeze her eyes closed, a familiar nagging self-doubt boiled through the man. In his heart he knew her reaction was a sign of pleasure but the dark idea that she could not bear the sight of his scarred face assaulted his mind.

Angrily Sandor tilted his head back and rasped, “Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “What is wrong, love?”

“If you want to stop, just say so,” Sandor growled roughly, pulling her chin mere inches from his face.

Recognition flooded the little bird’s lovely eyes as she returned his gaze. Reaching to caress his chin, Sansa stared deep into his dark countenance, tugged at the lacings of his smallclothes and whispered heatedly, “Sandor, I have always wanted you to be mine. I want nothing more than to give myself to you. Please, make me your wife and never again doubt my love and desire for you.”

Groaning, Sandor rested his face against her breast while hot tears pearled in the corners of his eyes.

“I will lass, but I have something to say first. Sansa, you are young yet, and I won’t plant a babe in you until you want one,” he murmured against her skin.

“Alright, I wish for us to learn each other for a while before we start our family,” Sansa continued stroking her fingers through the length of his hair. “But how can we keep from bringing forth children?”

The last thing he wanted to do was explain that to her just then. “You let me worry about that.”

Sansa shifted beneath him. “I-I have heard from the maids and a few of the older women that there are teas of some sort…”

“No, lass, NO,” Sandor roared out louder than he intended. Cursing himself, he glanced up at her.

She was not scared, though; Sansa squarely met his gaze and waited for him to continue.

“They are dangerous to both the woman and the babe. It could kill you.” He gripped her chin tightly. “Promise me you will never drink such. Swear it.”

Understanding filled her eyes. “I swear on our marriage and on the old gods that I will never drink any tea that would end pregnancy.”

Satisfied, Sandor kissed her soundly. “Anyone who brings that substance anywhere near you will taste my steel, believe that.”

Sansa nodded, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. While holding her eye, Sandor lowered his head for another kiss, languidly tracing his tongue over her lips.

“Now, where were we?”

Wriggling impatiently beneath him, Sansa rolled over to face him. “Let me touch _you_ now, husband.”

Her request both surprised him and inflamed his passion even further; he would never manage to keep from spilling his seed again at this rate. Cursing under his breath, Sandor steeled himself and cleared his throat.

“Go ahead then, girl.”

Pressing the flat of her palms against his chest, Sansa turned him over on his back, blushing madly as she lightly stroked his skin. Amused, Sandor settled himself among the pillows while Sansa awkwardly straddled his lap. To his delight, she was already wet, the dampness seeping through the silken material of her smallclothes.

His eyes fell to her undergarments, the man silently cursing himself for not removing the damnable article of clothing earlier. Still, it did little to diminish the heat radiating from her core, and the sensation brought a sudden surge of lust throughout Sandor’s body once more. Gripping her thighs, he ran his thumbs back to her woman’s place, fingering the soaked material and pushing it aside.

“Oh!” Sansa’s eyes twinkled mischievously, causing him to laugh sharply. “Oh that feels good.”

“Does it now?” Sandor murmured, pulling her further down over his cock.

“I feel naughty, somehow,” she confessed,  and before Sandor could answer she sank down over his hardened manhood and began running her hands over the ridges of hardened muscle carving his chest. Leaning forward, Sansa then moved her hands down to the tapering of his waist in rhythmic, sweeping movements. The soft, warm feeling of her skin gliding over his sent a powerful wave of lust to Sandor’s core. Concentrating on keeping his self-control, he allowed his eyes to drift closed under her ministrations.

Feather light fingertips continued tracing further downward and over the vee of his pelvis, massaging him there. His manhood painfully throbbed in response, begging for her touch.

Above him, Sansa giggled softly, pleased with herself, and daringly he felt her fingers unlacing his smallclothes, then easing them down his hips. Startled, Sandor’s eyes snapped open to see Sansa’s cheeks flush bright red but her apparent embarrassment did not stop her from removing them completely. 

“The hair on your chest is very soft, but the hair here is quite different.” Sansa commented curiously, dragging her nails through the course curls at the base of his manhood.

“Aye,” was all Sandor could manage, his body jerking in response as Sansa wrapped her silken fingers around his cock. Unable to hold back, he gripped her hold around him and squeezed, then slid her hand up and down his shaft, setting a rhythm and thrusting to match the pace.

Sansa’s eyes widened while her breathing came in shallow gasps as she watched the head of his manhood appear and disappear in her palm. Watching her pleasure him soon became too much for the man; throwing his head back, Sandor closed his eyes and blew out the breath he was holding in an effort to stem the rush of pressure to the head of his cock. His release was barely held at bay when suddenly the little bird’s tongue lightly swirled over the head of his penis, tasting the wetness there.

Groaning loudly, Sandor fisted her hair in his hands, fighting to resist thrusting into her lush mouth. Gently she began suckling him; the soft little wet noises Sansa’s mouth made instantly brought his release. Quickly he moved her away from his cock and settled her on her back, pulling on his painfully hard member to relieve the pressure. It was too late though, for he spilled his seed over her breasts and stomach.

Curiously she watched him, then shyly looked into his eyes. “Did you not like it?”

“Fuck me, I liked it a bit too well,” he gasped. “Can’t you tell? I peaked on you, girl; forgive me.”

Sandor sheepishly reached for a towel and began cleaning her off. “This is the way I’ll keep you from getting with child, if it isn’t too objectionable to you.”

“Oh,” Sansa glanced down and smiled. Stilling his hand, she lightly touched the wetness there, spreading it over her skin. “I do not mind it; your pleasure is mine. It should be thus between us. Now will you come into me, my love?”

Watching her rub his seed over her luscious body instantly aroused him once more. “Easy lass, there’s no hurry,” he growled, his cock already hardening again. “We have all night and I mean to make you ready.”

Smiling, she held her arms out to him. Wrapping her close, he stroked her cheek, jawline, and neck with the back of his hand, all the while wondering how the gods ever saw fit to give him such a perfect goddess as a wife. “Now, let me taste you.”

Her huge blue eyes widened before Sansa breathlessly nodded. Sandor caressed his hand over her tiny waist and the flat plain of her belly, kissed and nibbled the inside of her thighs as he made his way to the apex of her woman’s place.

Instinctively Sansa tightened her legs.

“I want to taste you _here_ ,” Sandor rasped against the tender flesh of her mound before running his index finger over the length of her opening.

“Oh, my, truly?” Sansa breathed out.

Glancing up at her, Sandor was pleased to see Sansa’s skin flushed with desire and covered in sweat, a vision out of his dreams.  “Open your pretty legs for me and let me taste your sweet cunt.”

Panting, she finally managed to nod once more. Slowly Sandor drew his tongue over her folds, and then dipped it inside her slit, tasting the length of her. Sansa was even sweeter than she looked, more succulent than the finest Summer wine or the first fruit of spring. He would never get enough of her.

Crying out, Sansa arched her hips toward him, wriggling impatiently. He meant to only tease her a bit before thrusting inside but her delicious flavor irresistibly captivated him. Taking himself in hand, Sandor gave himself a long, hard stroke as he continued hungrily licking and plunging his tongue inside his beloved wife.

“Husband, oh!” Sansa whined, bucking toward him. _She’s close, gods save me; I’ll never keep myself in check._ Anchoring her firmly with his powerful arms, Sandor eagerly laved his tongue over her until suddenly she cried out sharply, her entire body quivering in release. Gently he prolonged his ministrations, licking and suckling her until she finished riding out her peak.

“Sandor, oh my, that was…” Sansa gasped out breathlessly.

He chuckled knowingly. “It was beautiful, wife. I’ve never seen anything prettier than watching you release in my mouth,” Sandor devilishly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Trembling, Sansa flushed deep red and giggled self-consciously.

Pressing his lips against her ear, Sandor then positioned himself over her and growled, “Let me have you now, lass.”

“Yes,” she moaned long and low, arching her back toward him.

Sandor dipped his head to kiss her mouth while grinding his cock into her mound. Sansa instinctively tilted her hips up when the tip of his manhood pressed against her woman’s place. Taking himself in hand, Sandor pushed  forward into her opening; when she neither tensed nor cried out, he carefully slid the length of his into her. A small gasp escaped her lips while her nails dug into his shoulders slightly.

"Pain?"

“No, Sandor, just a feeling of fullness,” came her response from the crook of his neck. He pushed forward again, breaking her maiden’s veil. Sansa gasped sharply as her inner walls clenched tightly around him. Her cunt was so tight he hardly dared move; ever so slowly, Sandor began to rock his hips back and forth, gradually increasing his movements as her body relaxed.

"Yes," she breathed out. “Oh, that feels wonderful.”

"Good," he muttered through gritted teeth. Sandor kept moving at a gentle pace, slickly pulling back before sliding forward, and grinding his flesh against her apex. The pressure of her squeezing his manhood combined with the friction of their bodies moving as one nearly unmanned him.

Sansa sighed softly and wiggled against him, inexpertly trying to match his cadence. Gripping her hips, Sandor began thrusting faster, guiding her movements while swearing softly.

“More Sandor, please,” she begged, thrusting her hips against him. Hearing her words broke the last of his will; unable to hold back, Sandor began pounding into her at a frenzied pace.

Sansa’s held onto him tightly, her face contorted in pleasure. Wrapping her long legs around his waist, she used her thighs to squeeze him tightly, urging him onward. Her body suddenly pulsed around him; Sansa cried out her release, grinding down hard against him as she did so.

Thrusting deep into her, Sandor quickly followed; he narrowly pulled out in time, stroking his shaft against her woman’s place until his entire body shuddered out his orgasm. After the last pulses of their completion subsided, the spent couple laid sprawled out in each other’s arms, laughing softly and kissing as they settled into the pillows.

Sandor leaned over, took a goblet of wine from the nightstand and offered it to her. Smiling softly, she daintily sipped from it before handing it back to him.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded sleepily, snuggling against him."oh, yes indeed."

Tilting her face up to his, Sandor suddenly grew serious and warily studied her. “Did I hurt you? Tell me truly, wife.”

Drawing his face down to hers, Sansa kissed him softly, then said, “No, my love. It was beautiful…I feel very relaxed and satisfied in a way that is hard to explain. It was a lovely way to seal our wedded union. I love you so very much, Sandor.”

Never a man to make declarations, he knew what Sansa needed to hear, and Sandor was determined he would give it to her. “As I love you, wife,” he caressed his thumb over her bottom lip. “It will always be thus between us, lass, believe that. I swear it on our marriage.”

Sansa beamed up at him. “And I swear I will fill your life with love, Sandor.” 

Choking back his tears, Sandor rested his cheek on her forehead and felt her breathing soon slow as he stroked her back soothingly. In the silence of their bedchamber, Sandor awkwardly offered his first prayer, vowing to the old gods that he would keep Sansa safe. He swore she would never doubt his love and appreciation for her all the days of his life, for she alone completed him in a way he never knew possible. Determined to begin a new way of life, Sandor concluded by thanking the old gods for the best name day gift he had ever received, his beloved Sansa.


End file.
